Jackie's friend turned out to be an older man. I don't mean that to say he is sickly or lacking life. In fact he seemed very vivacious. He dressed nice and though his eyes clear and filled with vigor. His look challenged the common idea of youth being synonymous with beauty .
He, Mr. Ball, never mentioned his age. But I discerned from his looks, his demeanor, and his ideologies that he was one generation older than my parents. He bought lunch for the both of us, but stuck to drinking bottled seltzer water and freshly brewed decaf coffee himself. I know that the coffee was freshly brewed because Mr. Ball explicitly asked when the coffee had been made, and when the waitress couldn't reply with confidence, Mr. Ball told her to make a fresh pot for him.
I thought he was an asshole for it. But changed my mind when he ended up leaving a very large tip. A fresh Andrew Jackson bill that he laid on the table without consideration, not a glance into his wallet while he pulled it out while continuing the story he was telling us.
I now desired better clothes. I go most my life not caring about what clothes I wear, and one lunch with this man and suddenly I wanted to dress sharp. What a phoney I am.
He gave me a business card. I don't know why. He didn't say why. He didn't need to ,because Mr Ball wasn't a man who explained things. Though he did have an awful lot to say.
I was sitting in a chair at the cafe, gliding my finger across the off-white paper that read Ball and Associates. He'd talked about himself for an hour and I still didn't really know what he did. And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with this business card.